


Chameleon

by Kyu_Momo



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyu_Momo/pseuds/Kyu_Momo
Summary: Someone unexpected comes to Agent Washington's aid.Set loosely after season 13.





	1. Chapter 1

 The floor was a streaked and crimson-spattered blur of movement underneath his drooping gaze as Agent Washington’s head lolled and sagged against his holder’s back, blood trickling down to pool and stream between his eyes and then to the floor.

A spray of sparks leapt and danced across the reinforced steel of the halls. He could hear the static buzz of distant, ruined electrical equipment. A steady pitter-patter of streaming droplets surged from the facility’s mangled pipelines and coated the floor in a layer of slippery water.

Washington’s vision was blurry and unfocused; his body engulfed in liquid fire and every shift of movement below him, every breath he took, overwhelmed his mind with the agony.

 _Still_ unable to really process the meaning of what he was currently seeing and hearing, all Wash could do was moan and do his damndest to stay conscious.

Whoever it was that held him, moved steadily, briskly... Occasionally, stepping over a corpse splayed in front of a door or here and there along the path as they moved, their helmets each had a single spider web of cracks marking the bullet that had ended their lives.

Efficient. Methodical. Professional.

The armored body under him slowed to a sudden stop and the jolt had Wash gasping, trembling, _shivering_... He was lowered onto a flat surface, slowly, gently even. Had he been closer to lucidity, he no doubt would have been embarrassed about just how _vocal_ he was being about his distress.

_Never show signs of weakness._

He hadn’t particularly cared about the leader boards; they were pointless, but showing weakness was not something that was tolerated and had always gotten him lectured and punished to the point that suffering in silence had become second nature. Still, the shame of his weakness didn’t stick for once: Agent Washington was too far gone to care, his body too worn and torn, too exhausted to care about anything other than the fact that he was _too exhausted_. He couldn’t think beyond the pain.

A whimper escaped him as an armored hand grabbed his bare, unprotected neck and even with all of his mind suddenly screaming at him to-- _resist,_ struggle, _fight back damn you!--_ he couldn’t even manage clench his fists against the onslaught of panic.

“Steady.”

Dark armor. Deep Voice _. Familiar._

First aid.

The hands wrapped him in a medical blanket.

Warmth spread.

 

The next time he came to he was entirely lucid and, while his discomfort was still sharp and unpleasant, it had become _tolerable_.

Wash was lying flat on his back and wrapped in a thick medical blanket.  His restraints had been removed, his wounds had been treated, and he was out of his armor.

His armor was arrayed in the corner, and even at a glance, Wash could see that the helmet had been damaged beyond repair. The healing unit had been placed on his bed and pulsed mutely against the gloom of the darkened room.

He gingerly moved his limbs to assess the damage as he slowly took note of his surroundings. Even as careful as it was, his movements still elicited a mixture of fire and ice, but his muscles responded well enough, and his limbs were unencumbered.

He noted that the electricity was offline, the only source of light in the room came from weak monitor lights, the green pulse from the healing unit, and a flickering surgical lamp overhead. The lab’s surveillance equipment was malfunctioning. The door south of him had also been barricaded with an assortment of IV poles, monitors, surgical stretchers, and an endoscopy rack. Wash frowned.

By all appearances he was alone. Perhaps his rescuer had left him in relative safety to make his own way out?

Maybe it was just paranoia-- though considering that he had spent the last week and a half screaming his lungs out, he had a good reason to be, _thank you very much_ \-- but Wash liked to think that his instincts were on point after all the shit he had been through, and his instincts were now telling him that he was being _stared_ at.

Wash lifted himself up on his arms and rolled on his side and his limbs shook from exertion. He hissed in irritation.

‘ _Damn. Not good_ ,’ Wash thought. ‘ _Still too weak_.’

Wash sighed. _Well then._ Time to test the waters.

The freelancer rolled off the bed, and just as he expected, his legs immediately buckled and he fell forward—

\--and was just as quickly grabbed and held before his head could collide with the floor.

Wash reflexively found himself reaching for a knife that was not there and he all but growled.

 

He didn’t have time for weakness.

There was _never_ time for weakness.

 

His arms trembled despite his best efforts and yet he still _sagged_ from the exhaustion, the steel of the arms gripping him was the only thing keeping him upright.

Wash grit his teeth in frustration.

 

_Unacceptable._

 

He could feel the strength of the limbs that held him up and kept him steady, but he couldn’t see them... even as he raised a shaking hand to grasp what he knew and felt to be the man’s armored forearm.

 

“Locus.” Wash acknowledged.

 

 

The man in question grunted and Wash’s vision suddenly somersaulted to the ceiling as he was scooped up and deposited back on the bed. The blanket was wrangled into order and just as promptly tugged back over him soon after.

“Stay on the bed, Agent Washington.”

 

It was a logical outcome. If _Locus,_ of all people, had already gone out of his way to rescue him, then it made sense that he’d exert some extra effort to keep him from re-opening his head wound as well. Wash still couldn’t quite help the feeling of surprise, however.

 

A tumble of questions surged to the forefront of his mind.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to make of this situation.

 

“Why are you here?”

“I should think that was obvious.”

 

Surprisingly, Locus had dropped the camouflage. Wash could see him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in his peripheral vision. The man’s rifle was propped up within reach.

 

“Maybe. Maybe not. You’re still a wanted man for one. There’s no benefit in helping me.”

“Last year I would have agreed with that assessment.”

“And now?”

“I disagree.”

 

Wash blinked. He hadn’t expected the bluntness.

 

“When I said I would work to make amends, it was not just hot air, Agent Washington.”

“Atonement is a lifelong mission. You know that right?”

“I do.”

 

Wash left it at that. It’s not like he was one to talk. He had no right to judge.

He himself still had a lot to answer for even now and some days when he dropped low enough, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever be enough.

Wash could empathize.

 

 

“How did you find me?

“Go to sleep.”

“No really. How?”

 

A beat

 

“Fluke.”

“Oh _, really_.”

“No.”

 

 A pause.  

 

“Go to sleep.”

“Hmph.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got mauled by a plot bunny again.  
> Hope you liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

The bloodcurdling screams beyond that door had all but cleaved through Locus’ equilibrium like a suckerpunch to the gut.

 

Locus prided himself on always being in control no matter the circumstances. His missions had always been carried out with the utmost of proficiency because he always asserted his control over his victims, often without them even being aware that they were being manipulated to better angle themselves for his aim.

Calm.

Perfectly content to bide his time and hide in plain sight until the mission objectives all fell into place and then all it took was a _single_ push for the puzzle to solve itself.

 

And just like that, just from those muffled sounds alone, he was scrambling forward.

The need to move drowned out all other concerns.

 

_Sloppy._

 

Agent Washington had the right of it all along; he was a _monster_ , and monsters did _not_ panic.

Until now... apparently.

 

Locus hissed and struck, stealth all but forgotten.

Pathetic.

_Pathetic!_

The guards snapped and cracked.

 

Rage had all but consumed him, for many reasons that whirled and spun until adrenaline had taken over all rational thought and all hints of subtely had been drained and filed away as irrelevant. Rage. For the stupidity of his own actions and lapse of judgement, for acting like a fucking _ametuer_ at such a critical moment, for the _insufferable_ man who had laid down on the wire _again_ for those worthless simulation troopers, for the maddening flux of thoughts that were _never_ far away from the freelancer even still, for the cowards that had _dared_ to reduce a soldier to such a state...

 

The two security personnel standing guard outside the door had died mid-sentence, but unlike the forty to fifty other personnel that Locus had already calmly murdered, these two had died messily.

 

_“Surely you still don’t have any, shall we say, **loyalty** to the organization that betrayed you? Certaintly, none to spare for your so called companions who have left you for dead **again,** I should hope.”_

“ _No... No... Not agai_ —“

The screams had increased in frequency.

 

Subtetly?

What was that supposed to be again?

 

Locus tore the door off and threw it aside, aim perfect as always even in his maddening loss of control, and the body it collided with squelched... no, _crunched_ on impact.

 

The chameleon hadn’t bothered to reapply his camaflouge; it was no longer necessary.

These were corpses, not targets.

 ** _Assassins_** had targets.

Monsters like Locus, well, they only had **_corpses_**.

 

He had enough sense left to leave the last one alive at least, albeit temporarily.

 

“Release him. Now.”

Agent Washington was bleeding, naked, and thrashing weakly against his restraints. His eyes were jammed shut, his teeth were clenched, jaw quivering, and pained tears leaked from his eyes. Blood flowed freely and the whirring of the machinery sent the prone body below it into fits of anguished spasms.

As the scientist did as he was told, eight needles, four on each side of the man’s chest, wrenched out of the restrained body, still leaking viscous fluid and the hum and whir fell silent.

 

Washington gave one last, desperate cry before his eyes rolled back into his head and the man went limp, unconscious.

Unsurprisngly, the corpse needed to learn its place, shameless begging and squealing were all it could do: a direct contrast to the brave soldier that hadn’t given in to them even when he had every reason to.

It wasn’t particularly hard to coax out the information that Locus needed to tend to the unconscious man and bring him back to health, but once he had what he needed from the scientist and was assured endlessly of its truth, the corpse went back to rotting.

 

_Business as usual._

 

He cleaned the Agent carefully, bandaged his wounds, and clothed the man in a spare lab technician set.

Unfortunately, the anti-venom mentioned was stored in a different lab— _which only served to reinforce the idea that they didn’t seem to care if their source of information died, and yet they had been desperate to wring information out of him? It didn’t make the least bit of_ sense -- and Locus was especially careful when he lifted the wounded man and proceeded to move him.

 

Locus had learned quickly that Agent Washington was irritatingly stubborn. Even though they were unworthy of his protection, he had _deemed_ them to be regardless, and even now he stuck maddenlingy to that chosen task.

And did those men care?  No. Not in the slightest.

In fact, they seemed too stupid to even realize how fortunate they were to have gained the Agent’s protection.

 

_Insufferable man..._

 

The last that Locus had been able to stomach of their whining, the fools had still been frantic, desperate to find the freelancer, but flailing around pathetically doing the exact opposite instead.

Knowing the nature of the beasts that had taken him and what they were already infamous for,Locus had known the Agent would be dead before the month was out at the rate they were going.

_‘No,’_ Locus had thought. ‘ _I will not allow it.’_

 

And now here he was, killing two birds with one stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, not sure if I did justice to Locus' character.  
> (I've never tried to write him before.)
> 
> Hope it turned out okay.
> 
> And you guys have been amazing! Thanks so much for the support! :3


	3. Chapter 3

When it came, it came without warning and collided with the door.

The impact was dull but explosive, the sound a meshing of squealing hinges and groaning metal as it caved and bent inward, scattering the haphazardly stacked barricade like flimsy beads.

Wash came to with a gasp, again reaching for a weapon that was not there and Locus heard the man hiss in frustration.

The man tested his shaking limbs, adrenaline and urgency no doubt singing through his veins as he grabbed the healing unit, rolled off the bed and went for his salvaged equipment without prompting.

 

Locus had already seen the creature on the security cameras, was prepared to deal with it if... _when_ it came for them.

Washington had no such warning.

 

Locus saw the flicker of weakness on the Agent’s face all the same even though it had been so slight. But Locus had always needed to pry loose the details from his surroundings and so he had caught it all the same...  that small moment of weakness. The fear that flickered in those eyes when the noises began and the unknown clawed and shuffled at the door, he noticed the moment when Washington swallowed hard, pulse throbbing, when he had to ready himself for the task of survival, and, that moment when he had finally steeled himself to fight whatever this horror was.

 

So much pain was swimming in those eyes of his.

Washington swallowed.

_if I’m going to unravel, it won’t be **now**._

 

The man had already been through so much, and yet he still forced himself to stand tall time and time again.

 

Agent Washington rolled his eyes. 

Ah, there it was... The weakness had been overcome as quickly as it had sprung. _The Soldier_ was in control again.

 

That gesture meant, ‘ _Pfft._ _Really?’_

It meant, _‘After all I’ve been through, all the pain I’ve endured, you really think this will be enough? I don’t think so.’_

Locus felt a smile tug at his lips, approval heavy in his chest.

 

Confidence. Determination to survive. The courage to claw his way out despite the odds or die trying. To stand up no matter how many times he fell...

 

 

_Yes. Had there ever been any doubt?_

_This man was worth it._

 

 

Locus, rifle trained on the buckling door, unholstered his side arm, flipped it without looking, and offered it to the man coming up behind him. Agent Washington accepted the offered weapon without comment.

 

The noises started in earnest then. Whatever throat it had was gurgling and clicking from sloppily sewn skin when it finally let it’s voice ring out.

The sound of a wailing child. Of glass being dragged down a chalkboard.  A booming foghorn.

 

And then it was crashing through the hole it had just made, thick waves of black fog gushing into the room in its wake, and effectively cloaking the creature’s entire body until all but its blazing eyes were visible in the dark.

Locus had gotten off a few shots before the creature had cloaked itself, but couldn’t tell if the shots had actually done anything aside from aggravate it further. Agent Washington had wisely chosen not to give away his position recklessly. The freelancer was blind without his helmet, which had been so mangled the man hadn’t even bothered to put it back on. Instead Locus could see the Agent crouched beside one of the overturned beds, listening intently and weapon ready.

The billowing cloak moved and its streaking red eyes with it. That flash of movement and the slight scuff of claws in its wake was the only warning they had. Both men were already moving.

The twin tail lashed out, shredding the appliances, shearing splayed beds, and ripping a jagged swatch through the floor as its jaws snapped out of inky smoke. Locus aimed and fired as it lunged. Washington batted the maw aside with the butt of his weapon, fired a bullet point blank into the sparking red eyes inches away from his face, and then dodged backward when its tail made a second sweep. Another rifle shot from Locus and then it was all over. The thing gave one last, gurgling wail before the body crumbled, blood dribbling from its ruined skull, the fog dissipating as its body dissolved.

“What the fuck...” Washington murmured. He turned to Locus. “Are there more of them?”

“Possibly. The surveillance cameras weren’t exactly equipped with proper night vision.” Locus shook his head. Given how easily he had swept the complex, Locus wasn’t even particularly surprised at that lack of oversight.

“We’ve outstayed our welcome, then.”

“Indeed.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Washington hadn’t noticed just how much he had missed the fresh air until it was sweeping past him and rushing through his lungs. Granted, it was a small comfort.

The forest vegetation made traversing it rather difficult and the darkness of a moonless night certainly didn’t help either. Still, when Locus had grabbed his wrist and started leading him, he shrugged and followed his lead, not willing to show how much the other man had surprised him.

Washington had suspected he’d be left to wander blindly.

“Watch your head.”

The agent ducked the branch.

 

Their trek continued like that for what felt like hours.  It was slow going, but despite the fatigue that was starting to set in and the difficulty of the journey Washington felt content to wander. The open danger and lack of protecting his back should have been a nightmare of anxiousness and adrenaline... and yet he felt himself... on guard, yes, naturally, but... also, strangely _relaxed_. Instead of over thinking it, for once, Wash just let himself bask in it.  Whatever this awkward peace was, he was content to just soak in it for as long as possible for the time being.

Until  suddenly, Washington felt the man jerk out of his grasp as a large lumbering form rushed towards him. It felt like he had been hit by a truck as whatever it was tackled him and wrestled him to the ground.  He struggled, for all the good it did him.

The peace had left as quickly as it had come, and Washington felt himself mourning it already.

Whoever it was that held him in such crushing pressure wasn’t moving still, and they hadn’t angled a weapon at him either, but that didn’t stop Wash from struggling anyway. Wash reached for the knife that Locus had lent him, but couldn’t even budge his arms... The thing that held him effectively squashed him with little effort.

That is, until the sheer volume of that voice went straight into one ear and momentarily stunned him, “Agent Washingtub!  YOU ARE ALIVE!” The bulk holding him screamed.

“C...caboose?” Washington blinked and squinting, as if to clear his vision. Nope, still couldn’t see.  Caboose proceeded to shake him like a leaf until his teeth were chattering and clacking together from the force of it.

“Caboose! For fuck’s sake!  What part of quiet did you not get?” That voice belonged to Simmons. “You just let the entire jungle know we are here!”

“Yeah, like your shouting isn’t already doing that too, dumbass.”

“Hah! Bunch of cowards! I say bring it on!”

“Oh for...”

“We’re armed to the teeth, jungle!  YOU HEAR ME?  BRING IT ON!”

“We’re all gonna die...”

“Dude, that was a foregone conclusion.”

“All of you, be quiet!”  Carolina must have been closer than the others now, because Wash was able to make out her hissed demand.

Meanwhile, on top of him, Caboose was still showering him with praise for being alive.

“Good to see you too, buddy...  but, I kind of need to breathe.”

“Oh! YES!  Of course Agent Washington!”

Carolina sighed. “You alright, Wash?”

“...I’m,” Wash paused, and let out a breath, feeling the slight tug on his lips. “Yeah, Boss.”

 

For once, it wasn’t a flat-out lie and Washington wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t fine... _He wasn’t..._

Washington felt himself shudder.

_Prolonged interrogation... Yet again... He’s a great liar though.  Just slap on a fake smile and shrug it off. They never know any better. They’ll take your word for it.  Sometimes you can even fool Carolina these days..._

The edge of hysteria was still there, waiting in the wings. He would definitely be back in Emily’s office again... Dreaded it more than anything, because it was never easy, still hadn’t gotten any easier...

But somehow. He _was_ alright, deep down.

 

_Someone had come for him._

_Carolina and the others also came back for him._

 

Washington felt calmer then he had in a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully their Pelican wasn’t far off, and they made it without too much time lost.  On the way back to Chorus, the group chatted in the back.

“How did you find me?”

“Walking in circles with night vision. Duh.”

Washington rolled his eyes and looked at Carolina. Epsilon popped out into the open on her shoulder just to shrug at him, “An audio log was played on Blue Team’s secure channel. Thought it was just a recording at first, but then I realized it was _live_. Traced it from there.”

"Hey!"

"What the fuck man... Why did you tell him?"

"Why the fuck wouldn't I?"

 

“An audio log,” Wash cut in. “Of what?”

Caboose went still at Washington’s side and at the abrupt halt, Wash turned to glance at him.  The rest were giving him oddly subdued looks, except for Sarge, who still had his helmet on.

“Of _what_?”

“Uh...”

“Never you mind, Son.”

Wash shrugged, deciding he’d just pry it out of Carolina or Epsilon later.

 

Except, back on Chorus neither of them would budge.

Tired of the secrecy, When Carolina drilled him how he got out, his response was along the lines of, “You tell me what you heard; I’ll tell you how I got out.”

She didn’t ask him again and Wash decided curiosity be damned, and left it at that.

 

Things went back to normal after that, well, as normal as a group of ex-freelancer, simulation troopers, and a military organization could be...

He continued to train them with an iron fist, and time passed.

 

On one such normal day, it was pouring rain all day and Wash was feeling under the weather.  Having gotten into the habit of avoiding his room whenever possible when he actually needed rest, he slunk off into an old munitions storage bunker and let himself relax.

Tucker would probably make some quip about meditating while near a bunch of lethal weapons if he were to see him now.

“So... how long are you going to keep this up?”

If the man started at all at his question he showed no sign of it. Camouflage was great like that.

Having finally addressed the elephant in the room, Washington wasn’t sure if he’d receive an answer or if he had been imagining it all this time.

“How did you know?”

 

Washington released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He supposed he should have felt anxious, or at the very least creeped out now that his suspicions had been confirmed.

He didn’t.

Not really.

He felt amusement, a bit flattered, and that strange sense of calm again, also a bit exasperated too, because honestly. Was he ever going to just come out and say it?  Probably not.

Wash chuckled and admitted, “I didn’t.”

The camouflage lowered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. Not the greatest, but still.. I hope you guys liked it! :)


End file.
